Sound is a beautiful thing.
A voice that fills you with hope, a melody that makes your heart race, notes that fill your eyes with tears.
The single word spoken to you by a lover, sound that fills your ears with a tempest that reaches your soul.
An intimate vocation really, sound.
It rolls off your tongue and resonates within you fingertips perched on the strings of a simple instrument.
The music that the world makes, catered for your pleasure and tragedy.
The heart wishes for nothing more than a sweet melodic tune, a four-four beat to swing along with.
So sweet and despairing is sound, so tragic and hope filled. The world is the stage, and your soul is the orchestra.
YOU ARE READING
Moving the Mountains
PoetryPoetry used to bring down countries and inspire artists and break and win over hearts. This poetry is meant for the same fate, if only one truly decides to read it.
